


The Sick Rose

by shuu_chan



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Magic, Mythological Elements, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 04:25:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16590824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuu_chan/pseuds/shuu_chan
Summary: There is only one thing that Laurent desires. Something that lies beyond all he has ever known, something that always eludes him, ever out of reach.When he is given a sign, he begins his journey eagerly, unprepared for all he would face.





	The Sick Rose

Laurent wakes up in fits and intervals. The scent of the woods is heavy and laden, sickly, deceptively, sweet like syrup. He is all too well aware of what lies underneath: danger. His muscles ache when he shifts and he can feel the painful crests and creases on his skin from the riding leathers he had slept in. The ache of hard riding is settled deep under his skin, unmoving; an uncomfortable reminder of more days spent with the same continuous riding. It takes a moment— (And a painful jab)— For him realize that the pain was not why he was awake.

  
Someone is poking his ribs continuously.

  
He takes one look and then double-takes. His company is fast asleep, the moon is high and bright as ever, the woods are quiet, and all is in order. _Except_ \--except there is a young boy –if it can be called that, but it is the closest approximation he can make from the translucent, strangely bright form in front of him— it looks at him, the expression a cross between amusement and wonder.

  
In the moments that follow, Laurent’s mind filters through reactions, through defenses, fight tactics, strategies, and comes through … _blank_. No one had prepared him for ghosts. His tactical faculties failing him, he turns to rather more desperate measures, chants and nursery rhymes, curses and shielding mantras once taught to him in childhood play---to no avail.

  
He is saved from further mental anguish, when the ghost—boy— finally speaks.

  
“Humph!” he-it-says, in a tone that can only be called imperious, “Took you long enough.”

  
The voice is thin and unbroken. Laurent stares at him in awe. Weston Moor was infamous among wanderers for its irregularities and a strange encounter or two. Orlant had told him that a little devil tormented him in his dreams and Jord once mentioned a hallucination. Even Tommen had mumbled something under his breath, bad memories, he had said.

  
He had heard of terrifying creatures roaring and mystical, eluding lakes and fluorescent berries emerging out of nowhere. None of that quite close to the young ghost, looking and poking at him as if he was a lost possession, nosily making sure everything was in place.  
“What are you?” Laurent asks, his voice weak despite himself.

  
The ghost, who was presently inspecting his hair, froze. Some unreadable expression passed over his face like a shadow. Laurent was half sure he saw a glint of disappointment in his rusty eyes.

  
For a terrible moment, the child’s face distorted. It looked for a second that it had aged, right in front of him. But then the features sharpened. If, in that moment, he could have found his voice, Laurent would have screamed.

  
The translucent body had aged, but not to the maturity of a man. It was a corpse, the decay overturning all that was left of life.

  
Then, he vanished, as suddenly as he had appeared, and as Laurent watched him dissolve into the night air like mist, he caught a glimpse of bright sapphire.

  
Once or twice he feels a rustle, away in the darkness, and the fumbling under his own skin, like an omen lurking beneath the surface, eager to emerge. Calm had descended all around him. As if the world had settled into its own again, all peculiarities forgotten, sweetness overflowing again.

  
But Laurent knew too well what lay underneath.

  
He sat for a long time, sleep forgotten, staring into nothing.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! I will be posting this irregularly, because I only have bits and pieces written at the moment. I wanted to post this to finally get some motivation.
> 
> I would love to hear your thoughts on this, thank you for reading. <3


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